J.B. Spins

Jazz, film, and improvised culture.

Monday, December 31, 2012

2012: The Low Lights

As
a year-end insult, film sites are eagerly reporting the VOD-destined horror
movie Playback is the lowest grossing
film of 2012, raking in a paltry $264.
There is no secret to its anemic performance, having only been released
for one week on one screen, with no promotional fanfare. It is not very good either, but there were
far worse stink-bombs released in theaters this year, some of which were
torturously defended by critics who should have known better. Meriting a solid D, Michael A. Nickles’ Playback (trailer here)is considerably more entertaining and
accomplished than Dustin Lance Black’s Virginia,
Benjamin Dickinson’s First Winter,
Lee Daniels’ The Paperboy, and Spike
Lee’s Red Hook Summer, 2012’s absolute
low points.

Arguably,
Black’s Virginia is the single worst
film of the year, but it seems almost unfair to single it out. After all, Black recognized how bad it was
when it screened at Toronto and tried to fix it. It didn’t work, but at least he made the
attempt. Next time he ought to start
with a real story rather than merely lashing out at the Mormon Church of his
youth.

Filled
with endless scenes of urination, defecation, and disturbingly rough sex, The Paperboyis just a lurid sweaty
mess. A showcase for horrendous
overacting, it deserves a long life on the Rifftrax circuit. Indeed, many of the cartoonish characters
seem like they ought to have serious issues with wire hangers.

Red Hook would have been
painfully predictable and clichéd had it been released in the early 1990’s. A tiresome attack on the Church and
gentrification, RHS might well slow
down the latter since it makes the Brooklyn neighbor look profoundly un-neighborly.

Comparatively
speaking, Playback is impressively
middling fare. It starts with a gory
buzz-killing opening, apparently choreographed to defy all common sense. For some reason, notorious family killer
Harlan Diehl had a thing about video-taping his crimes. Playback appears to follow in the V/H/S tradition, but instead of telling
five creepy stories, it tells one crummy one.
It also mercifully ditches the camcorder POV in the present day, for the
most part.

Filming
re-enactments of the Diehl murders as part of an ill-conceived journalism class
project, Julian Miller becomes obsessed with the case. Eventually, he learns
Diehl was a descendant of pioneering French filmmaker Louis Le Prince, whom his
video store boss tells us was rumored to be Satan himself (Louis Le Prince =
Lucifer Prince of Darkness). As
half-baked premises go, that’s not bad, but Nickles just lets it wither on the
vine. Instead, we see scene after scene
of Quinn, a loser working for the local TV station, maliciously loading gear,
apparently under the sway of Le Prince’s possession.

As
Quinn, Toby Hemingway seems determined to do the world’s worst Johnny Depp
impression. Speaking of shtickiness, Christian
Slater is also on-hand (indeed, he is taking the brunt of the media coverage)
as Officer Frank Lyons, a cop paying Quinn for flash-drives of video recorded in
the high school girls’ shower room. Yes,
how the mediocre have fallen. On the
plus side, Mark Metcalf (Neidermeyer in Animal
House) has a few decent scenes as former reporter Chris Safford.

In truth, the rest of the cast is reasonably
adequate as the dead horny teenagers.
However, there is absolutely no underlying logic to the supernatural
goings on. Essentially, Playback is a run-of-the-mill rip-off of
The Ring, but it is relatively honest
about that. As a result, it stands taller
than 2012’s more heralded quartet of shame.
It is now available on VOD and streams on Netflix. There were plenty of films worth celebrating
in 2012 as well. To revisit some, check
out my year’s best over at Criticwire.

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Downton Abbey, Season 3

It
is the moment viewers have been waiting for, but anyone who expects an easy
trip down the altar for Cousin Matthew and Lady Mary has another thing coming. With the war over, the Granthams have plenty
of milestones ahead, including weddings, babies, and even a funeral. Rest assured, there will also be plenty of
scandal when season three of Downton
Abbey kicks off the New Year in style next Sunday on PBS’s Masterpiece(promo here).

Just
as the future of Downton seems secure, the Earl receives dire financial news. Yet, Matthew Crawley might be able to save Downton
yet again, if his scruples will allow it.
His moral dilemma will cause his cause friction with Lady Mary on the
eve of the ceremony—just like old times.
While the presence of Lady Sybil and her husband, the former chauffeur,
is also slightly awkward, the family slowly warms to him over the course of
season three. Slowly, “Branson” becomes “Tom,”
without terribly compromising his Irish Republican ideals.

This
would seem to be the season for wallflower sister Lady Edith to come into her
own, but her wretched luck continues unabated.
Yet, arguably it is the Earl who has the worst of it in the post-war
years, spending the better part of this season apologizing. At least, Thomas, the slimy acting valet,
will get his comeuppance, perhaps once and for all. Yet, it is the efforts of modest house-maid
Anna Bates to clear that name of her wrongly convicted husband that appear most
likely to bring some good news to Downton.
It will all culminate with a return to a tradition suspended during the
war when the Crawleys once again spend Christmas in the Scottish highlands.

In
the third season, some cast-members evidently began to tire of Downton or perhaps asked for more money,
which means curtains for some apparently hale and hearty characters. Of course, new characters will also be
introduced, but the overly hyped arrival of Shirley MacLaine as Lady Mary’s
fabulously wealthy American grandmother never delivers the anticipated sparks. Still, Dame Maggie Smith remains the wonderfully
tart force of nature, firmly maintaining decorum as the imperious Lady Violet, the
Dowager Countess.

Julian
Fellowes’ writing is a razor-sharp as ever, particularly the zingers he saves
for Lady Violet. However, fans might be
surprised by the more tragic tone of season three, even compared to the WWI
years of season two. Nonetheless, all
the elements that made the show a phenomenon are still present. Jim Carter is still a deeply sympathetic bulwark
of social conservatism as Mr. Carson, the Butler. Michelle Dockery and Dan Evans nicely the
develop Matthew and Mary’s stormy chemistry into a mature, believable marriage. Even if her Lady Edith is stuck under a cloud
of misfortune, Laura Carmichael has her best moments in the show this season,
hardening and humanizing what has been one of the series’ least defined, most
unpopular characters.

There is always hope for the future at
Downton. Indeed, a season four is
already in the works, albeit without a familiar face here and there. Still the best written show on television and
the only one co-starring Maggie Smith, season three of Downton Abbey is enthusiastically recommended when it begins next Sunday
(1/6) on most PBS outlets nationwide.

Friday, December 28, 2012

Dro-oo-od on Broadway

They
are not booing, they are chanting “Drood.”
Spectators are immediately asked to join in and hold that “o” whenever
the title character is mentioned on-stage.
Incorporating audience participation in the tradition of Rand’s Night of January 16th,
patrons will decide who the issue of guilt, but nobody is really innocent in
the Roundabout Theater Company’s randy revival of Rupert Holmes’ The Mystery of Edwin Drood, now running
on Broadway (promo
here).

Staged
as the latest production of a Victorian theater company, the first act more or
less follows Dickens’ unfinished novel and previous Masterpiece and Universal adaptations. Dro-oo-od is the entitled orphan nephew of his
guardian, John Jasper, a secretly drug-addicted provincial choirmaster. Jasper is not so furtively obsessed with Rosa
Bud, who was betrothed to Dro-oo-od in their childhoods. To deal with his ghosts, Jasper frequents the
London opium den operated by the Princess Puffer, a mere old crone in most
renditions, elevated in stature on-stage to accommodate a Broadway diva like
Chita Rivera, or in the case of the Roundabout’s revival, exactly like Rivera.

Before
long, Dro-oo-od will disappear and suspicion will fall on his newly arrived
rival, Neville Landless. However,
theater company chairman William Cartwright, serving as master of ceremonies
and reluctantly stepping into the role of Mayor Sapsea, will give the audience
a chance to “elect” the murderer for the evening, whether their choice makes
sense or not.

With
its meta-play-within-a-play concept, Drood
the musical is not unlike the recently hyped Anna Karenina. Yet, the
device works better here, probably because nobody takes it very seriously. Arguably, Holmes’ gimmick was also more original
when it debuted on Broadway in 1985, the same year Oliveira’s Satin Slipperwas released.

In
truth, Drood the musical cannever harbor many pretensions, aside
from expressing a bit of Dickens love, which is jolly fair enough. It is simply a chance for the cast to unleash
their inner mustache-twisting villains and vamps. Jim Norton, the distinguished co-star of many
Conor McPherson Broadway productions and his exceptional film The Eclipse, combines ham with dry wit
to excellent effect as the Chairman. The
Princess Puffer is not a natural fit for Rivera, but at least it is a chance to
see the Broadway superstar in her element.
Nor can the pleasure of the unapologetically colorful turns from Will
Chase as the dastardly Jasper and Jessie Mueller as Landless’s femme fatale
twin be denied.

Ironically,
the weak link of the musical Drood are
Holmes not particularly memorable tunes.
Still, “Perfect Strangers” is an appealing enough love song. However, the second act reprise became truly
high farce last Saturday, due to eccentric choices made by the audience that
would take too long to explain. (Evidently,
the Devil really gets into New Yorkers during the holidays.)

Appropriately
returning to Broadway during the Dickens bicentennial, the hard-working, highly
likable Drood represents a fresh
holiday alternative to yet another Christmas
Carol. The audience outreach is
clever without becoming intrusive (unless you’re asking for it in the front
row) and the performances are uniformly energetic. Recommended for those who enjoy broad musical
comedy with a literary veneer, The
Mystery of Edwin Drood runs on Broadway until March 10th at the
Studio 54.

Thursday, December 27, 2012

Miike Did It First: Sukiyaki Western Django

You
would think from the critical response Tarantino practically invented both
Spaghetti westerns and blaxploitation in Django Unchained. Yet, he is hardly the
first director to pay tribute to Corbucci’s Django. Takeshi Miike staked out some pretty
eccentric homage territory first with Sukiyaki Western Django(trailer
here),
a film Tarantino must be aware of, since he appears in it. In fact, he stinks up the joint with an
excruciatingly shticky too-big-to-be-a-cameo supporting turn. Perhaps that is why his amen chorus has doggedly
ignored such an obvious comparison film.
We don’t play favorites here, especially when Miike’s flawed SWD is so doggone interesting and
readily available on DVD.

Throughout
SWD, Miike cranks up the action
somewhere between a cartoon and a video game, with stuff flying through the air
and characters occasionally blowing holes through each other big enough to
stick your arm through. Hideaki Ito is
the archetypal man with no name, who swaggers into town, finding his skills
sought after by the rival Genji (white) and Heike (red) clans—essentially
returning A Fistful of Dollars back
to its Yojimboroots. Listening to offers but staying
non-committal, the gunslinger cools his heels at the Soba house run by Ruriki. For the record, a Gatling gun does indeed
turn up.

Red
and white briefly mixed to pink when Ruriki’s son married Shizuka. However, when her husband was killed by his
own clan, Shizuka took dubious refuge with the Genji, where she most definitely
catches the lone gunslinger’s eye. While
SWD is mostly a testosterone driven
action movie, its most interesting performances come from women. Yoshino Kimura is both seductive and emotionally
nuanced as “the temptress” Shizuka.
Kaori Momoi (previously seen it films like Memoirs of a Geisha and Kurosawa’s Kagemusha) steals the show as Ruriki, who turns out to be more of
an action hero than the wooden gunslinger.

Some
of the men do not fare so well, from an aesthetic perspective. Shocking absolutely nobody, the worst
performance comes from Quentin Tarantino, who seems convinced audiences want to
see he camp it up and go completely over the top. We don’t.
This is totally annoying Destiny
Turns on the Radio Tarantino, not the somewhat sufferable Pulp Fiction Tarantino. When he is on-screen, things come to a
screeching halt—quite an achievement given the hyper-kinetic energy Miike
infuses into the proceedings.

Miike
goes for whacked-out gonzo action and largely succeeds, thanks to the
ultra-cool Momoi and a dance number from Kimura that alone is worth the price
of admission. However, the film has a
mean streak that somewhat dampens enthusiasm.
Cruelty and physical humor go hand-in-hand in SWD, and often makes an uneasy fit, just as in Unchained. It has wild look
(including some costumes that would not have been out of place in a Liberace
stage show) and a bizarre vibe, partly due to the actors’ deliberately unnatural
sounding phonetic English. An occasional
subtitle might have helped.

Takashi Miike is the ultimate cult director, so SWD should be red meat for his
fans. The rest of us mere mortals will
likely to find it wildly uneven, but never dull. It would be about on par with Django Unchained were it not for . . .
Tarantino. Recommended for Miike
admirers and those who sorely in need of perspective on Unchained, Sukiyaki Western
Django is available on DVD from most online retailers.

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Call the Midwife: An East End Christmas

The
nuns and medical professionals of Nonnatus House are used to surprise
pregnancies, so you could say Christmas has special significance for them. Yet, they are still taken aback by the
package left on their doorstep. The hit
PBS-BBC series Call the Midwifedelivers
a special holiday helping of faith and sentiment in the Christmas special
edition, screening this Sunday, just in time for Boxing Day, on most PBS
outlets nationwide (promo
here).

There
is indeed a foundling left for the nuns of the East End convent-clinic. He was not immaculately conceived. Rather, he was secretly delivered by the
plain but hard working daughter of a parish lay leader. The infant will be fine in the nuns’
care. The young girl is another story.

Of
course, there is plenty of other drama afoot for the multi-character
ensemble. Fan favorite Nurse Chummy
Browne has her hands full planning the neighborhood Christmas pageant,
featuring an angel who looks suspiciously green around the gills. Meanwhile, rookie-nurse Jenny Lee, the
protagonist-narrator, is stuck paying house-calls on Mrs. Jenkins, an
anti-social derelict with a bad case of the “work-house howl.” In fact, this is the strongest subplot,
giving the special an appropriately Dickensian vibe. As usual, there will also be plenty of bike
riding.

Midwife is sort of like
Hallmark television for PBS viewers. It
depicts Christian virtues like faith and charity put into everyday practice in
depressed 1950’s London, while promoting the welfare state expansion then
underway. The heavy-handed in-retrospect
narration, courtesy of Vanessa Redgrave, is always a mistake, for multiple
reasons. However, the cast is convincingly
earnest and committed. Jessica Raine
shows star quality as Lee and it is cool to see Brit TV and movie veteran Jenny
Agutter light up the screen as the pious but pragmatic Sister Julienne.

Although it is no Chiller, the seventy-some minute Call the Midwife Christmas special represents safe and relatively
pleasant family holiday viewing. For
dedicated series viewers, it is more of the same, except more so, given the
Christmas setting. Recommended
accordingly, it airs this Sunday (12/30) on most PBS stations.

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Les Mis: Storm the Barricades

Even
viewers who have not read Victor Hugo’s novel or seen Cameron Mackintosh’s
stage musical know Jean Valjean spent nineteen years in prison for stealing a
loaf of bread. Such a fate is undeniably
unjust, but it is important to keep in mind it was a very nice sourdough. For years it defied cinematic adaptation, but
now Tom Hooper brings the musical Les Misérables
(trailer
here)to the big screen, with all its
bombast. It opens today nationwide, so
Merry Christmas everyone.

Distilled
from Hugo’s cinderblock sized novel, Les
Mis follows Valjean after he is released from prison. He has been freed from the unyielding Javert’s
lash, but the terms of his parole make him a desperate outcast. He finds temporary refuge with the truly
pious Monsignor, but he abuses the kindly cleric’s trust. Yet much to his shock, his betrayal is met
with forgiveness.

Thanks
to the Monsignor, Valjean reinvents himself under an assumed identity. He becomes a factory owner and the mayor of
his hardscrabble community. Then Javert
is transferred to his jurisdiction. For
a while they circle each other warily, until Valjean confirms the copper’s
suspicions to save an innocent man arrested in his place. Thus begins his life on the run (albeit a
relatively well-heeled one), with Cosette, the daughter of a tragic former
employee, in tow.

Yes,
this is Les Mis, a rather odd
combination of Christian fellowship and proletarian solidarity. Barricades will definitely be stormed, but at
least the church is not part of the apparatus of oppression. As the publicity campaign is quick to point
out, Hooper returned to old school movie musical production techniques,
recording the actors in performance live on the set, rather than have them
lip-sync to pre-recorded tracks. This
allows them more in-the-moment interpretive freedom. However, as your TV talent show judges might
say: “it gets a little pitchy, dog.”
Frankly, it is hard to understand why they did not clean some of that up
with Pro-Tools or a similar program.

Critical
reaction to Hooper’s Les Mis is also
something of spectacle, ranging from adulation to castigation. Word that Russell Crowe was making a movie
musical may have led some to fear the worst.
When Les Mis did not completely
bite, many evidently concluded it must therefore be awesome. In truth, it falls somewhere in the middle.

To
be fair to Crowe, he has been unduly hammered as Javert (a small irony there),
but in the story’s abbreviated stage form, his character’s actions during the
third act are jarringly problematic. Likely
Oscar contender Anne Hathaway knocks “I Dreamed a Dream” out of the park,
completely reclaiming the signature tune from Susan Boyle, and then promptly exits
the narrative. Hugh Jackman has the
perfect presence for Valjean and his performances of “Who Am I” and “One Day
More” are fairly stirring, but the show definitely peaks in the first act. Frankly, all the third act barricade songs
and revolutionary anthems just blend into a faux Internationale blur.

While
Jackman, Crowe, and Hathaway meet or exceed expectations, the rest of the
supporting cast is a dramatically mixed bag.
Eddie Redmayne sorely lacks romantic lead credibility as Marius, but his
voice is not bad. The real standout
though is British fan favorite Samantha Barks. She is the real deal as lovesick
Éponine, probably boasting the finest voice of the ensemble.

In
contrast, Helena Bonham Carter and Sacha Baron Cohen quickly become tiresome as
the felonious innkeeper Thénardier and wife, the show’s ostensive comic relief. A little of them goes a long, long, long way.
You know the Nile River? That long.
They must have assumed they were in a Tim Burton movie when they saw the
period sets and started hamming it up accordingly. In fact, the Nineteen Century Paris recreated
by the design team often looks like it was the work of the same Neo-gothic
architect responsible for The Dark Knight’s
Gotham, particularly when Javert compulsively paces about on high ledges.

Nonetheless,
Les Mis its moments, like “I Dreamed
a Dream” and “One Day More,” which might be Hooper’s best staging, utilizing
the cross-cutting toolkit of music videos more than traditional movie musical
production numbers. Elements of the
show, like the touching relationship between Valjean and Cosette, prove to be
absolutely bullet-proof.

Hooper and screen-adapter William Nicholson also
deserve a lot of credit for not watering down the themes of faith and
redemption. Indeed, it is refreshing to
see a senior man of the cloth depicted in an unambiguously virtuous manner.
Oddly though, when everyone hits the barricades, it becomes something of a bore. Recommended primarily for Les Mis devotees and diehard movie
musical fans, Les Misérables opens today
(12/25) across the country, including the AMC Empire in New York. Merry Christmas and to all a good night.

Monday, December 24, 2012

When the Iron Bird Flies: Tibetan Buddhism Takes America

Niall Ferguson would say “I told you so.” For
centuries, Tibetan Buddhism was largely confined to the Himalayan region. Then China invaded Tibet, precipitating an
exodus of refugees. A few decades later,
Tibetan Buddhists have earned growing ranks of converts around the world. Arguably, a bit of competition and westernization
has been beneficial. Victress Hitchcock explores
the positive implications of their exile in When
the Iron Bird Flies: Tibetan Buddhism Arrives in the West (trailer here), which appropriately
screens before and after New Year’s at the Rubin Museum of Art in New York.

It
is a rather eerie prophecy in retrospect.
In the Eighth Century, Guru Padmasambhava wrote: “When the iron bird
flies and horse run on wheels, the Tibetan people will be scattered like ants
across the face of the earth.” Communist
China realized the prediction with the 1959 invasion. In many ways, it was absolutely devastating
to Tibetan culture, particularly during the madness of the Cultural
Revolution. Yet, Hitchcock suggests it
forced one of the world’s most isolated religions into contact with entirely
new nations and peoples, during the 1960’s, a period when popular western
culture was widely receptive to Eastern thought.

In
Iron, Hitchcock challenges our
traditionally thinking on the Tibetan exile experience, suggesting it has
invigorated, modernized, and spread their religious practice. She has a real point. If one took a survey of most American college
dorms and neighborhoods, one would be far more likely to find books about
Tibetan Buddhism than Mao’s Little Red Book, even in Berkeley. That is a defendable standard of victory, but
it has certainly been costly.

Iron revisits
subjects of several documentaries that have played at the Rubin over the last
two years, including the late E. Gene Smith’s game-changing campaign to
preserve and digitize ancient Tibetan texts (fully documented in Dafna Yachin’s
Digital Dharma) and Chogyam Trunpa,
Rinpoche, a learned teacher who adopted a western business suit and lifestyle to
popularize Tibetan Buddhism with the western counter-culture (profiled in Crazy Wisdom, directed by Johanna
Demetrakas, who served as a consulting editor on Iron).

If
the learned Rinpoches became evangelists out of necessity, Iron spreads the Tibetan Buddhist “gospel” with the zeal of a
convert. Hitchcock clearly hopes to
convince western audiences this once exotic faith speaks directly to the times
in which we live. A little of that is
all well and good, but she risks alienating the sympathetic by coming on too
strong.

Still, Iron
offers a fresh perspective on Tibetan Buddhism, capturing its efforts to
shed centuries of male chauvinism. It is
very definitely the result of western contact, but also a reflection of the
fundamental humanism of the Tibetan Buddhist establishment in exile. Do not hold your breath waiting for similar soul
searching from the Islamic world. The
wit, erudition, and humility of many exiled Tibetan leaders also help enrich
Hitchcock’s portrait. Educational and
surprisingly optimistic, When the Iron
Bird Flies is definitely worth checking out when visiting the Rubin, home
to the world’s leading collection of Himalayan art. It screens again this Wednesday (12/26),
Saturday (12/29), and Sunday (12/30), as well as the 2nd and 23rd
of January 2013.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

In Contention: Hitchcock

Alfred
Hitchcock, the master of suspense, largely self-financed his notorious 1960
classic, Psycho. He picked the right film to literally bet his
home on. A spectacular success by any
standard, the film that would introduce Norman Bates to the world looked like
it might be his swan song during its rocky development and production stages. Dramatizing the behind-the-scenes story of
arguably his most iconic work, Sacha Gervasi’s sympathetic but bitingly witty Hitchcock (trailer here) is now in award
contention for at least one and possibly two of its accomplished leads.

Hitchcock is not a story
Hitch would have made. Since we know Psycho was completed to his satisfaction
and became a monster hit at the box office, there is not a lot of suspense to
the tale. However, the getting from
point A to point B is quite fascinating.
As we meet Hitchcock and his patient wife Alma Reville, he is basking in
the triumph of North by Northwest,
which somewhat bores them both. As a
distraction, Reville starts doctoring a new spec script written by Strangers on a Train screenwriter
Whitfield Cook, who is hoping she will convince Hitchcock to attach himself to it. Of course, he has his mind set on very
different property.

Based
on Robert Bloch’s novel, which in turn was inspired by Wisconsin serial killer
Ed Gein, Psycho is the sort of film
no respectable studio director would think of touching. That is exactly why Hitchcock is attracted to
it. As the closing titles remind
viewers, Hitchcock never won an Academy Award (a fact that could either help or
hinder the film’s own Oscar campaign).
Throughout Gervasi’s film, Hitchcock is clearly presented as a brilliant
but ragingly insecure filmmaker. Resenting
his lack of recognition, Psycho is
convincingly framed as an effort to make an exploitation horror movie that is
vastly superior to the prestige pictures the studios released. And so it was.

Yes,
this Hitchcock is somewhat neurotic and there is no denying his eye for
blondes. Yet, John J. McLaughlin’s
screen treatment is refreshingly forgiving of his foibles. He was indeed a man of expensive tastes
(taste being the most apt word), but the audience also sees Hitch and Alma
puttering about the kitchen in slippers, like relatively down to earth people.

Both
Sir Anthony Hopkins and Dame Helen Mirren are terrific as the first couple of
suspense. As the title auteur, Hopkins
is Hitchy without getting kitschy or shticky.
Likewise, Mirren is the picture of mature sophistication as
Reville. Listening to them bantering
like an old familiar couple is one of the film’s great pleasures.

Yet,
the supporting work of Toni Collette and Scarlett Johansson really fleshes out
the film. Collette’s smart, surprisingly
attractive turn elevates what could easily have been the thankless role of the
Hitchcock’s thankless assistant Peggy Robertson. Beyond being a spooky dead-ringer for Janet
Leigh, Johansson also has some wonderful scenes with both principles that
really deepen their humanity. While an
Oscar campaign on her behalf might be pushing it, Hitchcock should definitely be on the bill for any future Johansson
retrospective.

Gervasi commits a few missteps along the way,
such as overplaying Hitchcock’s interior dialogues with the convicted and
committed Ed Gein, perhaps hoping to throw genre diehards a bone. Still, the film payoffs handsomely,
especially for Hitchcock fans. In fact,
you could say it has a real Hollywood ending.
Deserving award consideration for the work of both Hopkins and Mirren, Hitchcock is recommended for the
director’s admirers and those who enjoy films about the cinema. It is now playing nationwide, including the
AMC Empire in New York.

Friday, December 21, 2012

Django Unchained: Sorry, No Jazz Guitar Here

The
real question is where’s the Gatling gun?
The nineteenth century machine gun certainly found its way into Sukiyaki Western Django, Takeshi Miike’s
homage to Corbucci’s spaghetti western. Considering
the shtickiness of his supporting performance in Miike’s film, Quentin
Tarantino has good reason to distinguish his Django pastiche from its predecessor. This he surely does, re-conceiving the gritty
western as a blaxploitation revenge beatdown.
Frontier justice gets a whole new look in Django Unchained (trailer here), which opens Christmas Day nationwide.

Dr.
King Schultz is no ordinary dentist. The
German expat has taken up the more lucrative work of bounty hunting. He also finds slavery appalling, so he has no
qualms about liberating a slave to help him track down the Brittle Brothers, three
of his former overseers who are now wanted by the law. That slave is Django and when he teams up
with Schultz, the Brittles do not stand a chance.

As
everyone knows from Unchain’s media campaign,
Django embraces bounty hunting because he gets paid for killing white
people. However, he and Schultz make
good partners, even becoming friends.
After a profitable winter of killing outlaws, Schultz agrees to help the
freeman liberate his wife, Broomhilda, who was taught German by her homesick
former owner. Unfortunately, she was recently
purchased by Calvin Candie, the master of the notorious Candyland
plantation. A bit of subterfuge will be
required to buy Broomhilda’s freedom, but Shultz has a suitably dubious
plan.

They
will masquerade as a prospective slave fight promoter and his free “Mandingo”
advisor looking to buy one of Candie’s brawlers. Of course, the white racists of Candyland
have trouble dealing with Django on civil terms, but the promise of Schultz’s
cash keeps them temporarily in check.
Unfortunately, Stephen (as in Fetchit?), the head house slave is
instantly suspicious of Django and his partner.

The
weird racial undercurrents detectable in Tarantino’s previous films build into
a tidal wave in Unchained. On the surface, it is a scathing indictment
of the antebellum era Deep South. There
will be retribution of Biblical proportions, carried out in some of the best
choreographed shoot-outs since John Woo’s Hard
Boiled. However, before justice is
served, Tarantino will thoroughly objectify African Americans, both men and
women, and unleash a blizzard of racial epithets. Yet, he will largely get away with it because
of the film’s ostensibly politically correct sense of moral outrage.

When
watching Unchained, one gets a sense
Schultz and Candie represent two sides of the auteur’s persona. Schultz is the white trickster he wants to be,
finding acceptance from African Americans through social conscience and hipster
sensibilities. Yet, if you peaked into
the dark recesses of his subconscious, one might find fantasies of the master,
slinking off to the slave quarters late at night.

While
he looks a bit like Christopher Guest, Christoph Waltz thoroughly dominates the
film as Schultz. Conveying a charismatic
sense of danger, he is the only character who consistently surprises viewers,
while serving as the film’s figure of tolerance. Waltz also has the perfect flair for Tarantino’s
dialogue, which is razor sharp as ever.
In fact, the period setting is something of a blessing, forcing him to
avoid ironic pop culture references.

Jamie
Foxx is appropriately flinty when going toe-to-toe with his racist antagonists,
but lacks Waltz’s dynamic screen presence.
Cruel but disturbingly subservient, Samuel L. Jackson’s Stephen is one
of the most distinctive villains of the year.
Yet, on some level, it is oddly problematic that Unchained invites the most scorn for an African American character. Conversely, Leonardo DiCaprio and his pasted
on mustache are simply ridiculous as Candie.
Completely lacking gravitas or menace, he looks like he should have a
surf board under his arm rather than a whip.

Tarantino
delivers some spectacular mayhem and some wickedly clever lines. Still, there is a leering tone to the film
that feels wrong when the bullets are not flying. Regardless, there is enough attitude and
inventive bloodshed to satisfy the filmmaker’s fans, as well as a cool cameo
from the original Django, Franco Nero, but the running time of one hundred sixty-some minutes is just excessive. By comparison, Corbucci's Django kills just about as many people in nearly half the time. Recommended strictly for connoisseurs of more violent exploitation films and
spaghetti westerns, Django Unchained opens
wide this Christmas.

Thursday, December 20, 2012

The Original Django, Accept No Substitutes

Italian
spaghetti western maestro Sergio Corbucci only helmed one official sequel to
his classic 1966 western gundown Django,
but scores of scruffy bootleg Django follow-ups were produced. In fact, they keep on coming, don’t they? None of them, including the recent homages
from Takeshi Miike and Quentin Tarantino cannot hold a cigarillo to Corbucci’s
original Django (trailer here), which opens
tomorrow in New York at Film Forum.

A
stone cold killer comes to town wearing Union Blue and dragging a coffin. Much mayhem ensues. Basically, that is what the film boils down
to. Like A Fistful of Dollars, there is an element of Yojimboin Django, turning
the title character loose in a town embroiled in a war between Maj. Jackson’s
ex-Confederate white supremacists and a band of Mexican revolutionaries (who
all look more or less the same), but attitude and action are more important than
plot, per se.

Temporarily
Django throws in his lot with his old associate, “General” Hugo Rodriguez, but
that is only because he needs a few men to stage a daring gold heist from the
Mexican army depot just across the border.
He also holds a mysterious grudge against Jackson, whom he saves killing
for last. Along the way, he rescues a
fallen woman who duly falls for Django, but he is not really at a place in his
life where he is looking for a serious relationship.

Notoriously
violent in its day, Corbucci’s Django does
not seem so shocking at a time when the Weinsteins will release Tarantino’s
pseudo-rebooton Christmas Day
(regardless of the unforeseeable national tragedy). However, its body count is still
impressive. Django’s action scenes are not really shootouts, they are
massacres. After all, that casket holds
a heck of an equalizer, courtesy of Mr. Richard Gatling.

In
a career defining role, Franco Nero is all kinds of steely badness as
Django. There is something deeply
existential about his presence, yet he is strictly business when it counts. Eduardo Fajardo is also thoroughly despicable
as Jackson, providing the anti-hero with a worthy antagonist.

Frankly,
some of the details do not make a lot of sense, like the racist Klansman
Jackson being buddy-buddy with the Mexican army. At times, extras literally walk into the line
of Gatling gunfire, which is awfully convenient of them. Yet, the metaphorically muddy environment and
gritty action more than compensate for any pedantic grousing. Plus, it is truly impossible to watch Django and not hum the iconic theme song
in your head for several days afterward.

Alex Cox suggests Django’s name is indeed a
reference to the great Roma jazz guitarist Django Reinhardt, in a way that
would be spoilerish to explain. If so,
it adds another layer of cult weirdness to the film. Regardless, Django delivers enough unrepentant action to satisfy any genre fan. An essential Italian western, Corbucci’s 1966
original is the Django to see when it
opens tomorrow (12/21) at Film Forum.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Memo to the Academy: Nina Hoss in Barbara

Intimacy
is based on trust, so is it ever really possible in police state like the Soviet-era
East Germany? Obviously, that is not the
Stasi’s problem. They are out to do
everything possible to isolate and demoralize a dissident doctor. Yet, in spite of her better judgment, she
will develop ambiguously complicated feelings for her minder in Christian
Petzold’s Barbara (trailer here), Germany’s
official best foreign language Academy Award submission, which opens this
Friday in New York.

As
soon as Dr. Barbara Wolff applied for an exit visa, her brilliant career was
effectively over. Transferred from a
prestigious East Berlin hospital to a provincial backwater, Dr. Wolff is all
too aware of the eyes on her. The most
obvious set belongs to Andre, Barbara’s ostensive supervisor, whose role as the
designated Stasi snitch is an open secret.
He has a surprisingly convincing good guy act though and he genuinely
seems to care about their patients, particularly Mario, a young man suffering
from a mysterious head trauma that defies diagnosis. Yet, the case that resonates deepest with Dr.
Wolff is that of Stella, a recaptured prison camp escapee suffering from
meningitis.

Wolff
is not inclined to meekly submit to the Stasi’s mounting harassment. Having hatched an escape plan with her West
German lover, she believes her time in East Germany is limited, which is why
she is so surprised by her growing attraction to Andre and her emotional
investment in their patients.

Barbara has been
described as Petzold’s response to Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck’s brilliant
The Lives of Others. That is true to an extent, but not in a
polemical sense. There is no nostalgia
here for the Honecker regime, let alone a defense. Petzold’s parents made the flight to freedom
Dr. Wolff is anticipating, so he is understandably sensitive to the everyday
tribulations endured by East Germans.
Indeed, the film is best at conveying the guarded nature required for
even the most prosaic of conversations and the jarring sound of that dreaded
knock in the night.

Barbara
Wolff easily represents Nina Hoss’s best performance to reach our shores. Outwardly diffident but profoundly uneasy
beneath her facade, the good doctor might be the best woman’s lead role of the
year (and most years prior). It is a
tricky proposition to convey her character’s roiling inner turmoil as well as
her concerted efforts masking it from the world, but Hoss pulls it off
remarkably. It demands a full scale
Oscar campaign. Former East German
Ronald Zehrfield also helps complicate audiences’ emotional responses as the
flawed but perhaps still idealistic Andre, who might also be a victim himself,
in that manner unique to captive citizens of police states.

Exercising a masterful control of mood and
ambient sound, Petzold vividly recreates a sense of life in the GDR, in all its
oppressive austerity. It is a lean,
tense narrative, yet Petzold derives much of the suspense from within his
characters rather than through external cloak-and-daggering. A very accomplished film featuring
Oscar-worthy work from Hoss, Barbara is
very highly recommended when it opens this Friday (12/21) in New York downtown at
the Angelika Film Center and uptown at the Lincoln Plaza Cinemas.

Dickens at MoMA: The Mystery of Edwin Drood

Ned
is dead—apparently. Unfortunately, his
creator, Charles Dickens, also died before he could reveal both the location of
young Drood’s body and the identity of his murderer. It has become a literary guessing game performed
on stage and screen, including the current Broadway revival and a BBC production
recently seen on Masterpiece Mystery. Somewhat underappreciated, Stuart Walker’s 1935
adaptation of The Mystery of Edwin Drood
kicks off MoMA’s Dickens on Filmseries
tomorrow, in celebration of the Dickens centennial.

John
Jasper seems to be a mild mannered provincial choirmaster, but he knows his way
about London’s opium dens. He is a profoundly
flawed man, but his affection for his ward, Edwin (or Ned) Drood, is genuine. He also harbors a darkly consuming love for
Rosa Bud, the young man’s intended. It
was a Dickensian engagement negotiated by their late fathers and subsequently
nurtured by their guardians, Jasper and solicitor Hiram Grewgious. In addition to Jasper’s unwelcome attentions,
fiery new arrival Neville Landless also falls for Bud, hard. Pretty much the only one not hopelessly
smitten with her is Drood, which leads to all kinds of hard feelings. Then one dark and stormy night, Drood
disappears under mysterious circumstances.

Suspicion
in the village naturally falls on Landless, the aptly named Christian orphan
from Ceylon, but Dickens left plenty of evidence to incriminate Jasper with
readers. Of course, the whole question
of habeas corpus is key to mystery.
Walker and a platoon of screenwriters provide a reasonably workable answer
to that riddle.

However,
it is a bit surprising Walker and company do not play up the gothic elements
more, especially considering the 1935 Drood
came out during the golden age of Universal horror movies and features
several of their franchise stars, including first and foremost Claude Rains,
the original Invisible Man and Larry Talbot’s father in the first Wolfman.
Exceeding expectations, David Manners (the bland protagonist of Dracula and The Mummy) excels at the entitled attitude and drunken misbehavior of
the ill-fated title character, while E.E. Clive (the Burgomaster in Bride of Frankenstein) plays another
ineffectual local authority as Mayor Sapsea.

While
there are many perfectly nice supporting turns in the 1935 Drood, it is unquestionably Rains’ picture. His Jasper is definitely a brooder in the Invisible Man tradition rather than the
continental smoothy of Casablanca. Watching him leer at Bud and drug himself into
oblivion is quite good fun. Recommended
for fans of Dickens and Rains, The
Mystery of Edwin Drood screens tomorrow (12/20) and Saturday (12/22) as part
of Dickens on Film at MoMA.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Chiller: The Complete Yorkshire Horror Anthology

Yorkshire
is known for its green hills and savory pudding. However, the region is also rife with
supernatural activity, if one can judge from a Yorkshire produced anthology
series that aired in 1995. While totaling
only five episodes, it built up a cult following, so this should be a happy
Christmas for fans now that Chiller—the Complete Television Serieshas just been released on DVD by Synapse.

ITV
may not have done Chiller any scheduling
favors, but the show maintained a surprisingly gritty, mature vibe. Indeed, one of the striking consistencies throughout
each installment is the rather grim, depressed look of the characters’
environment. In fact, a bit of urban
renewal kicks off a whole mess of trouble in the initial episode, Prophecy.

Francesca
Monsanto’s family diner is about to face the wrecking ball, but not before some
of her drunken hipster friends convince her to hold a séance in the
basement. It always creeped her out down
there—with good reason. It was loads of laughs at the time, but one by one they
suffer grisly accidents that were in some way foretold by the Ouija board. Stranger still, the son of her fabulously
wealthy new boyfriend seems to be involved somehow. Featuring Chariots
of Fire’s Nigel Havers as the well-heeled Oliver Halkin, Prophecy is one of the best of the
series, cleverly blending all kinds of genre elements, including ancient evils
and exorcisms. It will also be of particular
interest to teen horndogs for Sophie Ward’s fleeting nude scene as Monsanto.

In
contrast, Toby, the second episode,
is the weakest of the short-lived series.
Miscarrying after an auto accident, Louise Knight and her husband
naturally move into a spooky old house with a macabre history, hoping to start
over. Before long, she appears to be
pregnant again, but the ultrasound says otherwise. Essentially, Toby recycles elements of Bradbury’s story “The Small Assassin” and
scores of subsequent demonic baby films.

Here Comes the
Mirror Man
represents a return to atmospheric form for the series, capitalizing on the
eeriness of the abandoned church where a young social services case is
squatting with his homicidal imaginary friend, Michael. Phyllis Logan (widely recognizable from Downton Abbey and Lovejoy) stars as Anna Spalinsky, the lucky caseworker who inherits
Gary Kingston’s file when her predecessor dies an untimely death.

Beginning
like the standard “skeptic learns the hard way” tale, The Man Who Didn’t Believe in Ghosts develops some interesting
twists and ambiguities. Richard Cramer
is an Amazing Randy style writer whose books discredit paranormal humbug. Suffering a stroke after a television appearance,
he naturally relocates with his family to the big, spooky Windwhistle Hall, where
the former owner’s wife died in a tragic “sleep-walking” accident. Why doesn’t anyone ever want to recuperate in
the city, with plenty of people around?
Nevertheless, the Cramers cannot resist the low asking price, only to be
terrified by a series of mysterious accidents as soon as the move in. Of course, Cramer is not going anywhere, lest
he commit professional suicide.

Just
as it began, Chiller ends with one of
its strongest episodes. Every full moon,
a serial killer preys on the children of the aptly named burg of Helsby in Number Six, perhaps inspired by the
ancient druid rituals once (and maybe still) practiced in the region. Indeed, there may be both human and
supernatural agencies involved. Quite engaging
as a police procedural, Number Six also
boasts some of the series’ most sinister moments.

Arguably,
Chiller makes perfect sense for
Christmas viewing. There is a big
turkey dinner at the Cramers (which becomes magically infested with maggots),
a mass is held (as part of an exorcism),
and kids chant nursery rhymes (derived from old Druidic rites). As a stocking stuffer for anyone who enjoys horror
anthologies like Tales from the Crypt
and Hammer House of Horror, Chiller is a solid bet. Recommended for fans of British genre
television, the short but complete series is now available on DVD from Synapse
Films.

Monday, December 17, 2012

Haneke’s Amour

Death
is the ultimate leveler. It comes for
all and unless the pharaohs were right, you cannot take it with you. For years, one French couple lived a life of
privilege and refinement. However, the
diseases of old age will rob them of their dignity and comfort in Michael
Haneke’s Amour (trailer here), which opens this
Wednesday in New York at Film Forum.

Selected
by Austria as their official foreign language Academy Award submission, the
Palme d’Or winning Amour is a French
language film, set almost entirely in a Parisian flat, featuring two of the
most acclaimed French actors of their generation: Jean-Louis Trintignant and
Emmanuelle Riva. At least, Haneke is Austrian. Nevertheless, it qualifies under the Academy’s
stringent rules for best foreign language features. In fact, it is an acknowledged frontrunner.

Indeed,
Amour’s themes and big name cast are
distinctly Oscar-friendly, but this is a Haneke film, not On Golden Pond. The emotions
are darker and the sentiment will be hard earned. Viewers initially meet Anne and Georges
during a moment of triumph. They have
returned from a high profile concert given by Anne’s last and greatest music
student, Alexandre, which they attended as his guests. Unfortunately, soon after they return, Anne’s
health begins to fail in a dramatic but protracted manner.

The
slightly forgetful Georges is rather stunned to find himself in the caregiver
role, but he does his best. It is
difficult though, both for him and Anne, as Haneke illustrates in a series of small
but punishing scenes. Of course, the
framing device forewarns the audience Amour
will end in tragedy, but how the couple reaches that point is the whole point
of the film.

They
say a good film can never be a downer and that is true, butas accomplished as Amour’s performances
are, it probably should be avoided by those prone to depression. The human frailty displayed by Trintignant
and Riva is rather shocking, especially given their indelible cinematic images
from classics like A Man and a Woman and
Hiroshima mon amour. Riva’s work is particularly brave, revealing her
character’s pain and degradation, both physically and emotionally.

While
it is a less showy a performance, the bitter honesty of Trintignant’s Georges arguably
represents the film’s true essence.
Though it is a thankless supporting role, Isabelle Huppert is still perfectly
cast as their icily detached grown child Eva.
Classical pianist Alexandre Tharaud also has some touching moments as
his namesake, who might be a better son-like figure than Eva ever was as their
legitimate daughter.

Compared to some of Haneke’s previous work, Amour is distinctly sympathetic to his
characters, but considering the unflinching focus he trains on them, “sensitive”
might not be the most apt descriptive term for the film. Aesthetically, it is also quite
distinctive. Production designer
Jean-Vincent Puzos’s flat is elegantly photogenic and cinematographer Darius
Khondji gives it all a gauzy, sophisticated look. Yet, forcing us to bear witness to Georges
and Anne’s intimate misery seems to be the extent of Haneke’s agenda. Recommended with respect (rather than
affection) for emotionally robust Francophiles and those who appreciate
dramatic showcases, Amour opens this
Wednesday (12/19) at Film Forum.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Submitted By Japan: Our Homeland

In
the 1960’s and 1970’s, many Korean-Japanese immigrated back to their
homeland. Unfortunately, they chose the
wrong one. With family at risk in the
DPRK, active members of Japanese-North Korean friendship associations had no
choice but to tow the party line. Yet,
the implications of the basic foodstuff care packages they sent to loved ones
spoke volumes. Granted a special three
month visit for medical reasons, one such “repatriated” North Korean reconnects
with his guilt-ridden family in Yang Yonghi’s devastating Our Homeland (trailer
here), which
has been selected by Japan as their official foreign language Academy Award
submission.

Yun
Sung-ho most likely has a brain tumor.
Given the woeful inadequacies of the North Korean medical system, he is
allowed to briefly return to Japan—after a five year waiting period. He is fortunate his father is the president
of the North Korean society, but he will still be monitored the entire time by
his minder, Mr. Yang. Regardless, his
family is grateful to see him again, especially his poor mother. Likewise, Rie is delighted to see her beloved
brother again, but she cannot ignore certain ironies, like her brother developing
malnutrition in the “Workers’ Paradise.”
Yes, she is our kind of free-thinker and the unambiguous conscience of Our Homeland.

Based
on writer-director Yang Yonghi’s own family experiences recorded in Dear Pyongyangand a subsequent documentary,
Homeland is even more direct in
addressing conditions in North Korea.
Perhaps liberated by the fictional context, the film explicitly blames
the DPRK for the misery of its citizens.
There is no inclination towards moral equivalency. In fact, there is a clear affection for the
Ozu-like quiet serenity of Japan.

While
Yang’s script is unusually honest and challenging, her leads really make it hit
home. Dynamic and vivacious but deep as
a river, Sakura Andô is simply remarkable as Rie. It is an award caliber performance. Conversely, it takes a while for Iura Arata’s
pitch-perfect portrayal to sink in, striking uncomfortable chords between
bitterness and resignation. Boasting a
top flight ensemble from top to bottom, Homeland
is also distinguished and humanized by memorable supporting turns from
Kotomi Kyôno as Yun’s ex Suni and Tarô Suwa as his loving blacksheep capitalist
uncle Tejo.

An
assured narrative debut, Yang masterfully controls the mood and tone, despite
the almost complete lack of soundtrack music.
Her approach is intimate and not surprisingly documentary-like, but Homeland never feels overly talky or
draggy. Indeed, the emotional drama
never slacks.

Our
Homeland is a deeply compassionate
film, but it is also somewhat angry, plainly calling an older generation to
account for sacrificing their children on ideological grounds. Its unmistakable critique of North Korean
Communism might not sound like Academy fodder, but the foreign language
division can be surprising in a good way.
After all, The Lives of Otherswon
the Oscar and Andrzej Wajda’s Katyn
was nominated before it even had American distribution. Regardless, Our Homeland would be a worthy nominee that deserves an
international audience.

Saturday, December 15, 2012

Submitted By Bulgaria: Sneakers

When
the youth of Bulgaria feel alienated, evidently they head to the beach. It makes more sense than moping about a
housing project. Six disaffected
slackers enjoy an idyllic retreat, but it can only last so long in Ivan
Vladimirov & Valeri Yordanov’s Sneakers
(trailer
here), which
has been selected by Bulgaria as their official foreign language Academy Award
submission.

No
girly-girl, Emi beats the snot out of her mother’s abusive boyfriend. Turkish immigrant Gray has no shot with her,
but he loyally follows her anyway. Eventually, they hook-up with Blackbird, a
too cool to care coffeehouse performer, and his dedicated ex-boxer pal,
Wee. Having pummeled some lowlifes in a
bar brawl, they are also looking for a change of scenery. With no general plans, the four crash at the
beach, where half-aspiring filmmakers Ivo and Fatso soon turn up.

The
combination of a lot of booze, angst, the cute but sexually ambiguous Emi, and
five guys, two of whom are very definitely attracted to her, ought to spell trouble.
Yet, whenever the film perches on the
brink of conflict, the six dropouts resolve it rather simply (up until
co-director-co-star Yordanov’s screenplay takes a weird climatic turn into left
field). While that might be rather
appealing in the abstract, it is dramatically self-defeating. There are also several conversations you might
have to be Bulgarian—and possibly drunk—to get.

While
Sneakers’ narrative is not really
anything to write home about, it offers some appealing scenes of fun in the
Black Sea sun. Cinematographer Rali
Raltschev deserves a citation of honor from the Bulgarian tourism bureau. Yordanov, who made a real meathead impression
in Kristina Nikolova’s Faith Love + Whiskey, acquits himself quite well, at least in front of the camera. In fact, the ensemble performances are easily
the strongest aspect of the film, with Philip Avramov and Ina Nikolova doing
particularly sensitive, well-calibrated work as Blackbird and Emi,
respectively.

A bit awkward at times, Sneakers is still perfectly presentable on the festival circuit,
but it is most likely not bound for Oscar glory. For professionals, it is definitely worth
checking out for a look at its talented young cast. Sneakers
has screened in New York at a Bulgarian festival, but it ought to have a bit
more fest action ahead of it, thanks to its Oscar contention status.

Friday, December 14, 2012

The Hobbit: Peter Jackson Cranks Up the Frame Rate

Does
this sound familiar? A little dude with
big feet saves the world. A magic ring
is involved. Welcome back to Middle
Earth. After the complete triumph of the
Lord of the Rings trilogy, a big
screen treatment for The Hobbit was
almost inevitable. Fortunately, after a
complicated development process, Peter Jackson retook the reins of what is now
a prequel trilogy. As most anyone remotely
connected to the media culture knows, Jackson’s The Hobbit: an Unexpected Journey (trailer here) opens today,
just about everywhere.

Blink
and you might miss him, but Frodo appears in passing early on. Of course, The Hobbit is Bilbo Baggins story, which he is writing out for
Frodo’s edification. In his younger
years, Baggins was recruited by Gandalf the Grey to aid a company of dwarves
reclaim their ancestral home from an ancient dragon. A bookish homebody, Baggins cannot fathom
what he would bring to the expedition, but Gandalf just seems to think it will
be helpful to have a hobbit along.
Thorin Oakenshield, the fiery heir to the Dwarvish throne, is openly
contemptuous of Baggins, but several of his compatriots eventually warm to
their halfing compatriot.

Thorin
also makes no secret of his resentment for the Elvish kingdom, whom he blames
for turning their backs on the Dwarves in their hour of need. However, Gandalf insists they will need their
assistance deciphering a certain magical map.
They could also use a hand with the Orc hordes pursuing them through the
mountains. Frankly, there should not be
so many trolls and goblins roaming about the foothills. There seems to be an evil agency at work,
with most signs pointing to the former Dwarvish homeland.

Considering
The Hobbit is just one average sized
book and The Lord of the Rings is a fat
trilogy, one would expect a lot of filler in Unexpected Journey. Yet,
since about seventy-five percent of the film consists of the orcs chasing or
battling the dwarves, it’s nearly three hours do not seem so excessively padded
(as long as you enjoy fantastical action).

All
that melee looks great in 3D. No lame 2D
fix-up (like Clash of the Titans), Journey was clearly conceived for the
format. However, the High Frame Rate
(HFR) gimmick is another story. Frankly,
the super sharp clarity of image often makes the effects look more fake rather
than the opposite. Conversely, the early
scenes in Bag End lack the warm cozy vibe one would expect.

Even
if HFR is more of a distraction than an attraction, Jackson gets the bigger
Tolkien picture. He understands and
always remains true to the series’ themes of sacrifice, faith, courage, and
humility. Fans trust him adapting this
world, with good reason, so if the HFR experiment is the price to pay for
Jackson’s return to Middle Earth, it is probably worth it.

Journey
might not be as epic as its LOTR predecessors, but it does not disappoint. Martin Freeman (Sherlock’s Dr. Watson) has the right everyhobbit presence and looks
quite credible as Sir Ian Holm’s younger analog. Most importantly, Sir Ian McKellen is back as
Gandalf, a role he was probably born to play.
Hammer fans will also be pleased to see Sir Christopher Lee return as
Saruman the White. It is sort of more of
the same, but Jackson makes it feel right even when it looks a little weird. Recommended for fantasy fans, The Hobbit is now playing on over 4,000
screens nationwide, including the AMC Loews Lincoln Square in New York.

J.B. Spins

About Me

J.B. (Joe Bendel) works in the book publishing industry, and also teaches jazz survey courses at NYU's School of Continuing and Professional Studies. He has written jazz articles for publications which would be appalled by his political affiliation. He also coordinated instrument donations for displaced musicians on a volunteer basis for the Jazz Foundation of America during the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Send e-mail to: jb.feedback "at" yahoo "dot" com.